


SVS-18: Collateral Damage

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, F/F, M/M, Series: The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season, other pairing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:17:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair thinks Jim's senses need a tune-up away from the city. A quiet vacation, a beautiful Lodge in the forest--what could go wrong? Minor angst.<br/>This story is a sequel to SVS-17: Freedom Run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SVS-18: Collateral Damage

**Author's Note:**

> Episodes of SVS may contain depictions of consensual m/m sex. These depictions may or may not be accompanied by specific mention of items necessary for safe and healthy intercourse. It is the intention of FiveSense, Inc. and all SVS authors that, even when such items are not explicitly mentioned, their use is to be assumed as a matter of course. All of us at FiveSenses, Inc. are aware of the risks of unprotected sex in today's world and strongly advocate the practice of safe sex, including the use of condoms and other protective devices.

## SVS-18: Collateral Damage

by Corbeau

Author's webpage: <http://www.squidge.org/5Senses/>

Author's disclaimer: This story is an episode of The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season (SVS), produced by FiveSenses, Inc. SVS is based on characters and concepts developed by, and belonging to, Pet Fly Productions. This story is intended for private, personal enjoyment only. No money is being made, or will be allowed to be made, by the author of this story or by FiveSense, Inc. from the writing and distribution of this story. Any original characters introduced in an SVS episode belongs to the episode author and to FiveSenses, Inc. and should not be used without their permission.

* * *

Warmest thanks from FiveSenses, Inc. to DiDannan for her much appreciated coontribution in beta reading this story. 

Author's e-mail address: Corbeau47@aol.com 

Collateral Damage  
by Corbeau 

* * *

"Sandburg, tell me you haven't gotten us lost again." 

"Jeez, Jim -- one time, four years ago now, and I'll never hear the end of it. No, we're not lost. I told you this place is really remote; that's the point. You know you need a recharge." 

"So you keep telling me." 

"All my research says Sentinels are supposed to do this once a year. And that information is based on tribal Sentinels, who don't have the constant assault on the senses that you do in an urban setting. I should probably be dragging you away at least every six months, and instead we haven't really done anything like this since St. Sebastian's." 

"Can't imagine why -- that was such a great vacation. So relaxing, except for the murder and armed assault part." 

"You were really getting into it before all that happened, admit it." 

"Well... the quiet was nice at first, although it didn't have the compensations this trip will have." Jim pulled his gaze away from the potholed road long enough to favor his passenger with a comic leer. 

Blair grinned in response. "It's a good thing, too. Fucking each other's brains out in a monastery would have been really tacky." 

"Yeah, those poor guys had all taken a vow of celibacy. It'd be like waving chocolate cake in front of a diabetic." Jim gave an exaggerated smack of his lips and reached over to squeeze his passenger's thigh. 

Blair laughed but swatted the roving hand. "Hey, cool your jets, big boy -- at least wait until we get checked in, and be grateful we're going someplace with plumbing and not backpacking in true wilderness, like we probably should be. Watch the road; we should be coming to the turnoff pretty soon. It's supposed to be less than a mile after a big fallen tree." 

"Oh, that's helpful." Jim looked around at the sea of green surrounding them. "There's nothing but trees around here, and a lot of them have fallen. How are we supposed to know which -- holy shit!" 

As they rounded a curve, Jim slowed the truck and pulled over to the side of the road. The trunk of a massive red cedar lay on either side of the rough pavement, like the wooden walls of a fortress gate. Chainsaw marks were visible, but softened and darkened by time and the plant and animal life that had colonized the still-majestic carcass. 

"You were saying?" Blair asked, in a voice that sounded more reverent than teasing to Jim's ears. 

"I guess this is unmistakably _the_ tree. Look at the size of that thing." In unconscious agreement, the two left the truck and walked up to touch the fallen giant. Jim ran his fingers absently over the striations left by the saw. "It must have fallen during a storm and they left it where it fell -- just cut away enough to clear the road." 

Blair was peering at the rings. "Wow, this one must have been five hundred years old at least. What a shame it had to come down." 

Jim moved closer, slipping an arm around his partner. "At least it was a natural death... it didn't get chopped down so rich suburbanites could build bigger and better decks." He looked down at Blair, who was still staring enraptured at the record of centuries encoded in the wood. The damp forest air had curled his hair even more than usual, and tiny beads of moisture sat among the strands like miniscule pearls. He looked like some almost-mythic forest creature, an elf in flannel and hiking boots. Overcome by sudden desire -- no, need -- Jim turned the younger man toward him, bending toward the face that rose to meet his like a plant seeking the sun. Their lips met in a deep kiss; long, loving, not demanding. 

When Jim opened his eyes, Blair's were still blissfully closed. They opened slowly, revealing blue-green depths that reflected the forest around them. "What brought that on? Not that I'm complaining." 

Jim took his partner's hand and led him back to the truck. "Guess I must be getting into this Sentinel tune-up thing after all. Thought I'd get a head start on revitalizing taste and touch." 

"Tune-up, huh?" Blair settled himself back in the passenger seat and clicked on his seatbelt. "I guarantee by the time this vacation is over I'll have all your engines purring like a litter of kittens. Jaguar kittens, of course." 

Jim started the truck and eased back onto the deserted road. "Just make sure you don't forget the lube job." 

* * *

"Here's your keys, Blair, and a map of the grounds. Your cabin is number twelve, the farthest away, right at the edge of the woods. Should be as quiet as you want. Too cool and wet for a lot of customers this time of year, although we have a few other guests." 

Blair took the keys from the huge flannel-clad and bearded man behind the desk. "So, Ted, do you miss teaching biology? You were one of the high points of my undergrad days, man." 

"Not as much as I thought I would. Besides, I haven't totally stopped. Business is slow enough in the winter that I can get a lot of writing done. I've published some freelance articles in nature magazines, and I'm working on a textbook in conservation biology." 

"Hey, that's great! Your lectures were always terrific. Too bad you were an elective. I'd have preferred taking more from you and less from Mitchell. It takes some effort to make primatology boring, but he sure gave it his best shot." 

Ted's booming laugh fit his size. "Yeah the man had a gift, that's for sure." He handed Jim and Blair more paper -- menus, local attractions, etc. "There's a small kitchen in the cabin if you don't feel like coming to the Lodge for meals, but I've got a great cook, so it's your loss if you don't. Trust me, the food's worth a walk, even in the rain. You need help with your bags or anything?" 

Jim shook his head. "No thanks, we're fine." He extended his hand. "Nice meeting you, Ted. It's a beautiful place, although I expect you get a lot of surprised tourists expecting jungle decor." 

"With a name like 'Rainforest Lodge' that's to be expected." Ted stroked his beard. "If they act confused they get a lecture on tropical versus temperate rainforests. Keeps me in practice. Enjoy your vacation, guys." 

Leaving the truck in the parking area behind the Lodge, the two men strolled along the meandering path through the widely spaced trees, noting the numbers on the doors of the sturdy wood-and-stone cabins tucked among them. Those nearest the main building were fairly close together, but as they got closer to the edge of the forest the more widely spaced they became. 

"That's number eleven." Blair nodded to a cabin on their left. "Shouldn't be too far." 

"Seems like we have neighbors." Jim stopped on the path, teasing the air for the scents of habitation. 

"Looks like all the others to me," Blair remarked. "And there's nothing on the porch." 

"More residual heat," Jim explained. "The others haven't had a fire going in days, even weeks. This one's had a fire burning much more recently, maybe this morning. I can smell food, toiletries, perfume -- a lot stronger and fresher than in the others." 

"Well, I hope they don't come over to borrow a cup of sugar. You need solitude." 

"So do they, probably, or they'd be staying in the Lodge where they can go to dinner without the risk of being rained on. Besides, looks we're not exactly cheek by jowl. That must be us." He pointed to a cabin right up against the edge of the wild forest. 

"Perfect! Ted said it would be quiet and secluded. There's supposed to be a trailhead just a couple of hundred feet to the right of it. Long walks in those woods should do the trick for your senses." Blair hopped eagerly up the steps of cabin twelve and opened the door. "Or not." 

Following Blair into the dim interior, Jim took in the large stone fireplace, the heavy curtains, thick rugs scattered around the wooden floor, the comfortable and sturdy Mission-style furniture. Especially the vast and inviting expanse of the king size bed. His partner was already turning back the heavy comforter, sighing in ecstasy. "Flannel sheets. Maybe we won't take quite as many walks as I'd originally planned. Maybe we'll never leave this cabin." 

"This sure beats St. Sebastian's," Jim commented as he examined the small kitchen alcove, a bathroom with a shower big enough for two in a pinch, and a generously sized closet with plenty of extra blankets. No TV or radio, and way out of cell phone range, but this time he didn't feel the need for any electronic entertainment -- and he sure as hell wouldn't be needing to make any dates this time. All the entertainment he'd ever need was unpacking their extra clothes and underwear, stowing them in the drawers of the dresser. Jim took shaving gear and other items into the bathroom, trying to decide if it would be better to build a fire first, explore his surroundings, or explore his Guide. He glanced at his partner, who was still wearing all his layers while bustling around the cabin. No, too cold here to get him naked, extra blankets notwithstanding. 

Blair's eyes rose to meet his. "Ready for your recon now?" 

"You taken up mind-reading, oh Shaman of the Great City?" 

"Nah, just Ellison-reading. You know you can't relax in a new place until you've cased the joint. I don't know if it's a Sentinel thing, a cop thing, a Ranger thing, or all three. But you'll be twitchy all night if you don't, you know you will." 

Jim lifted his hand in front of his face and stared at it. 

"What?" 

"Just wondered how I could have gotten so transparent and not noticed." 

Blair smacked Jim on the butt as he expertly hustled his Sentinel out the door. "Observing you is my job, buster. Actually, I wouldn't mind a look around myself. I've always wondered what this place was like. I knew Ted's family owned it but I never managed to get up here before. I was pretty surprised when a great teacher like him gave up a tenured professorship to take over a lodge in the boondocks when his parents died, but I'm beginning to understand." 

They walked back toward the Lodge, taking the long way round past the cabins they hadn't seen before. To a casual observer they would have looked like any other tourists, but Jim's relaxed stroll was at odds with his alert gaze, taking in everything around him, making a mental map of the grounds. "So this place belonged to his parents?" 

"And his grandparents before that. Maybe even his great-grandparents. It's rare to find a patch of old-growth forest like this that isn't public land or owned by a logging company. It would be worth a fortune if he wanted to sell, but he never will." 

"Does he have kids who'll take it over some day?" 

"Maybe. I mean yes, he's got kids, and maybe they'll want to take it over when the time comes. His son is a Forest Ranger on Yellowstone and his daughter's in med school at UCSF. Ted's only in his early fifties, so it'll be a long time before it comes up." 

"Is there a Mrs. Ted?" 

"You remember the restaurant we went to when we celebrated our two-month anniversary, the one near Rainier?" 

"Same one we went to all the time when the Volvo had the vapors and I used to pick you up a lot? The Green Dragon -- the one that everyone thinks is a Chinese restaurant?" 

"Well, everyone who hasn't read Tolkien, anyway. What did you think of the food?" 

Jim wondered idly when Blair was planning to come to the point, but played along. "It was pretty good, but not as good as it used to be. I remember the first time you took me there my stomach thought I'd died and gone to heaven." 

"It's not as good now because Annie -- the original chef -- moved to a Lodge on the Olympic Peninsula with her husband." 

"No shit! *She's* the cook here?" Jim turned a dazzling smile toward his grinning Guide. "When you set out to revitalize a guy's senses you don't fool around." 

They wandered around, idly exploring the public rooms of the Lodge. Everything exuded casual comfort. The natural fabrics in all the rugs and upholstery were kind to Jim's senses, and the rustic wood and stone construction, mellowed by time, gave the whole place the air of something that had grown up there naturally among the trees, like a sturdy mushroom that came complete with indoor plumbing and electricity. Soon their meandering, and Jim's nose, led them to the dining room. They stood in the doorway, too late for lunch -- which they'd eaten on the road -- and too early for dinner. 

A tall young man about Blair's age, wearing a Lodge nametag that bore the legend "Topher," spotted them as they lingered. "Can I help you with something? Dinner won't be for another couple of hours, but if you're hungry the cook can fix you something. Are you in the Lodge or one of the cabins?" 

"Cabin twelve," Blair answered. "We had lunch, but I'll bet it wasn't as good as what you had here." 

The young man smiled. "Probably not, but there's enough left over to make up a CARE package for both of you. Were you planning to go somewhere before dinner?" 

"Just explore the trail near our cabin for a bit," Jim replied. "Right, Blair?" 

"Yeah, I can hardly wait to see that forest close up. Don't go to any trouble for us though, we can --" 

"It's no trouble, we do this for guests all the time. That way, if you don't feel like coming all the way back here for dinner, you'll have something you can eat in your cabin. Or you can save it for lunch tomorrow. Let me tell the cook, it'll just take a minute." 

Jim and Blair looked at each other. It was an excellent possibility that they'd have other things to do after their hike, which would no doubt include foreplay in the forest. It wouldn't be the first dinner they'd missed in the last several months because other appetites were being satisfied. "Thanks," Jim replied for both of them. "Guess we'll take you up on it." 

Less than ten minutes later, a bouncy young blonde who seemed barely old enough for a work permit brought their food. This one's nametag identified her as Sue. She was obviously too young to be the cook, but the mouth-watering odors that clung to her clothes identified her as a cook's helper. She held out a large paper bag. "Here you are, gentlemen, enjoy. Topher had to go bring in more firewood, so he asked me to bring you this. You can bring back the containers any time. We recycle." 

After dropping off the food in their cabin, they found the trailhead with no trouble and decided a short hike on the four-mile loop trail would be just long enough to whet their appetites for dinner -- or whatever. They'd be back in plenty of time to warm up the cabin before dark. Jim, at Blair's insistence, didn't make any effort to extend his senses as they left the grounds of the Lodge behind. He let them seek their own level, which was less than he was capable of when he concentrated, but still several orders of magnitude above the average person's. It felt good to let them drift this way, not having to dial them down to survive the urban cacophony, then suddenly jack them up on purpose. He hadn't realized until now what a strain it was doing that day after day. Blair was right; they should do this sort of thing more often. Blair was usually right about anything Sentinel-related, not that the Sentinel in question admitted it out loud very often. Amazing, really, when you realized the guy was pretty much making it up as he went along... writing the twenty-first century Sentinel maintenance manual all by himself. 

Jim watched his partner as he gazed up into the soaring trees, his face suffused with pleasure and wonder. After all he'd been through -- or been dragged through at the side of his Sentinel -- all the shit he'd put up with, all the horrors he'd seen, that look was still there. It had gone away more than once, most recently after Blair had been forced to shoot Richard Ervin. But so far it had always come back. Sometimes, in those dark-night-of-the-soul moments, Jim brooded about what it would take to erase that look for good. He prayed he'd never have to find out. 

Jim cocked his head. "Did you hear that?" 

Blair gave him the patented Long-Suffering Guide Look. 

"Hey, it's hard for me to tell sometimes how close something is. Sounded like someone else is walking around." 

"Well, we are on a hiking trail. Those other guests have to be somewhere." 

"Smart-ass." 

Blair turned around to look at his own rear. "Smart, cute as hell, and a total Sentinel-magnet." 

Jim made like iron filings and glommed onto his partner. "I suggest we pick up the pace of this hike so we get back to the cabin faster... unless you want to spend the evening picking spruce splinters and pine needles out of the ass in question." 

"No thanks, caveman. I'll take flannel sheets over tree needles any day." 

After some kissing and groping and a lot of laughing, they set out on the return half of the loop at a much faster walk. The edges of the trail were sometimes hard to determine after the ravages of winter storms, but the ground was flat and clear enough that it didn't really matter. Jim felt comfortable letting Blair take the lead, which had the added bonus of giving him a constant view of the Sentinel-magnet in motion. He'd left his gun locked in the cabin, at Blair's insistence, so the only scents and sounds that reached him were natural, organic -- sap rising through the tree trunks, leaves and needles slowly turning to humus on the forest floor, scent-marks of deer and raccoons and other animals willing to live this close to people. The sound of water was everywhere. It dripped from leaves... brooks swollen with spring rains bubbled in the distance -- a sound subtly different from the rush of underground springs that he could both hear and feel beneath his feet. 

They were less than a mile from their cabin when a discordant note entered the mix. It brought no sense of danger with it, at first. It just didn't fit. It was like an itch you couldn't scratch, a persistent irritation that wouldn't go away. There was something here that shouldn't be, that stood out from the soothing natural background... something that belonged to the world of "civilization," of made things, not natural phenomena. It was odd enough that Jim began to consciously extend his senses, despite his Guide's plan. He ratcheted up smell to see if he could identify the elusive wrongness, and sight to look for its source. 

When realization hit, several things happened at once. Sentinel brain identified the scent first as metal, then steel. Almost at the same time, Sentinel eyes caught a hard glint among the soft debris of the forest floor. Hidden from anyone else's eyes by fallen leaves, the object was directly in Blair's path. It wasn't enhanced Sentinel senses, but that "sixth sense" that had more than once saved the life of Ranger or cop that caused Jim to cry out. 

"Blair! Stop!" 

Blair stumbled a bit as he skidded to a dead stop from a brisk walk, but stop he did, inches from whatever was hidden under the leaves. 

"Jim -- what's wrong?" 

"Just don't move." Jim left the trail to search under the trees for a thick branch. Approaching the object slowly, he focused on smell. The scents of metal and oil were strong, but there was nothing else -- no chemical odor, no explosives. Gently, one layer at a time, he brushed the leaves away. 

"Son of a bitch!" Blair suddenly burst out. "What asshole left that here? This is private land, and that abomination sure as hell doesn't belong to Ted." 

"A leghold trap. These things are as illegal as hell now even if this land weren't posted. Stand back, I'm going to spring it." Jim thrust the branch between the jaws of the trap. They closed on it with an ugly clang, snapping the wood in two. 

"Goddamit," Blair swore. "That could have been my ankle. Leaving something like that around will fuck up your karma all by itself, but to put it on a trail -- somebody is either unbelievably stupid or criminally careless." 

Jim bent on one knee to examine the ground around the trap. "Neither, Chief. Look at this." As Blair sank down beside him, he moved more leaves aside with his hands, revealing a depression in the dirt below. "Somebody put this here deliberately, and took some pains to hide it. This hole was dug so it wouldn't stick up beyond the level of the path. The dirt at the edges of the hole is a different color. It hasn't oxidized, or dried -- not that it could do that very fast in this weather -- but it doesn't look like it was dug that long ago. Besides, the leaves around it weren't packed down that much." 

"And with it sitting right in the middle of the trail like that, it wouldn't be long before some poor schmuck sprang the thing. But who would do something like that, and why?" 

"I don't know, but we're going back right now to have a chat with your friend Ted." Jim pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around the trap. "Anybody who handled this thing probably had the sense to wear gloves, but just in case... we'll see if the local Sheriff can pull up any prints." 

* * *

"Shit," Ted Morris swore softly as he stared at the ugly object Jim Ellison had just unwrapped on the desk of his small office. "You found this right in the middle of the trail?" 

Jim nodded. "Anything you'd like to share with us, Mr. Morris? Anything that would shed a little light on this?" 

The Lodge owner sat abruptly in his chair, his eyes never leaving the trap. He seemed about to speak, then slumped down in the chair, rubbing one beefy hand over the lower part of his face. 

Blair put both hands on the desk and leaned forward. "Ted, you know these things are so horrible that an animal will gnaw its own foot off to escape. It would be a disgusting thing to put out there even if it weren't left smack in the middle of a trail. If not for Jim, I'd be in a cast right now. Suppose it had been someone hiking alone, late in the day? They could be out there all night, exposed to hypothermia, predators --" 

Ted stood up abruptly and began pacing, as much as someone his size could in a small room with two other men. "Look, I've had some trouble in the past with vandalism, petty mischief..." 

"How do you define 'petty'? " Jim asked sharply. 

"When I first took over the place, there were some broken windows, graffiti, air let out of the guests' tires, that sort of thing. Letters that suggested that if I knew what was good for me I'd forget about reviving the place." 

"Reviving?" Blair asked. "What did they mean by that?" 

"Before my folks died, they let the Lodge slide a bit, and business was off. When I inherited, many people assumed I'd just sell it. I had some pretty impressive offers from resort chains, logging companies, even some weird religious cult that wanted to use this place as their headquarters. Some of those people had trouble taking 'no' for an answer." 

Jim and Blair looked at each other, then Jim voiced what he was sure was their mutual conclusion. "So you think somebody was trying to intimidate you into selling?" 

"Nothing else made sense. I was a teacher, for God's sake. What kind of enemies could a biology professor make?" 

Jim stepped closer to his partner and lightly touched the suddenly tense muscles in the younger man's back. "You'd be surprised." 

Catching the undertone of anger in Jim's voice, Ted stopped pacing and looked at the deceptively quiet man with the cop mask now firmly in place. The body language between his two guests didn't escape him, and understanding dawned. "Sorry, Blair -- I heard what you went through with Ventriss. But nothing like that ever happened to me. Besides, any student who wanted to get back at me could have done it in Cascade a lot more conveniently. Why come to the back of beyond? This stuff went on for months, but it stopped over three years ago." 

"Any idea why?" 

"I made it known in no uncertain terms that if I went bust, or if anything happened to me, I'd only sell the land to the Nature Conservancy, for whatever they could pay. I talked it over with Annie and the kids, and put it in my will." 

"Three years is a long time, Jim," Blair offered. "Besides, this seems a few steps beyond letting air out of tires." 

"Maybe. What about your employees and guests, Mr. Morris?" 

"I hire a lot of temporary help in the summer, but at this time of year everybody who works here is either a relative or somebody I've known for years. Except for you, everyone else who's staying here has been here before, several times. I can't imagine why they'd suddenly take it in their heads to do something like this. Besides, most people are staying in the Lodge proper, and have been here at least two days. I think the staff would have noticed by now if one of them had a leghold trap in their luggage." 

"How many are in the cabins?" 

"Besides you and Blair, just a college teacher on sabbatical in number five, and two women in number eleven. And forgive me, Detective, if strewing steel traps around sounds like more of a guy thing." 

"You obviously haven't met the women I have," Jim replied, deadpan. 

"Consider yourself lucky," Blair added. 

Resisting the urge to give his partner a smack on the butt, Jim pointed to the trap. "I'd still like to take that to the local Sheriff and have it checked for fingerprints." 

"Can we do it tomorrow? I have a secure storage area that only my wife and I have keys to. After thirty years together, I think I can trust my wife." 

"What if this guy decides to plant another one tomorrow? One of your guests could get hurt." 

"There's a storm heading for Oregon and Northern California tonight. We're only supposed to get the edge of it, but that's enough to bring a lot more rain. I don't imagine there'll be much hiking going on. As soon as breakfast is over tomorrow I'll take you to the Sheriff. If this turns out to be a single bizarre incident, I don't want the guests alarmed for nothing. That's most likely what it is, anyway. Unfortunately, Detective, Cascade hasn't cornered the market on crazies." 

Jim nodded slowly, reluctantly. He might have pressed the point, but he doubted there were fingerprints anyway. There were none his senses could detect, and whatever equipment a backwoods Sheriff would have could probably do no better. Besides, he wanted nothing more than to be alone with Blair right now, reassuring himself that his Guide was well and whole, reconnecting with the body and soul that were so precious to him. He turned to look at Blair. 

"Ready to go back, Chief? We need to light that fire." 

Blair's lips twitched. The double meaning in the question clearly wasn't lost on him. "More than ready." 

Ted opened the office door and ushered the two out before him. "Dinner's going to be served in fifteen minutes -- don't you want to stay for that?" 

Blair turned back to his old teacher. "That's really tempting, given Annie's cooking, but it's been a long day for us. Long drive, hiking... I think we need to get that fire going and just crash in our cabin for tonight. We're too whacked to be very good company. See you at breakfast, though." 

"OK. Have a good night's rest -- you can't miss out here." 

* * *

When Jim woke he first thought it must be near dawn, and the clatter of early-rising Lodge workers had disturbed his rest. He was startled when the small travel clock told him it was just past midnight. Admittedly, he and Blair had gone to sleep earlier than usual, tired out by their day of travel, good food from their CARE package, and better sex. His partner was still deeply asleep in his arms, spooned up against his larger lover's chest, sated and relaxed. So whatever had awakened Jim was probably something that would only disturb Sentinel hearing. However, he didn't feel the tense alertness or the surge of adrenaline that signaled danger. After years in the Army and the PD he didn't even have to be one hundred per cent awake to sense a threat. Maybe it had been the cry of an animal, either a nocturnal predator or its victim. 

He jerked in surprise as his ears were assaulted by just such a cry. For a split-second he thought it really was some animal in the act of either killing or dying, but something below the level of consciousness told him it was a human sound. Seconds later he squirmed with the realization that it was not unlike the sounds that he and Blair had been making a couple of hours ago, but higher pitched. It was a woman's voice -- a very satisfied and happy woman who didn't care if the world knew it. Normally the world wouldn't have been able to hear it, even that small portion of the world in the next cabin. To a Sentinel, though, the neighbors might just as well be doing it on the porch of number twelve. 

"Jeez, Jim, is the country air making you especially horny or what?" 

Jim gave a guilty start. "Whaa -- what?" 

Blair turned around to face his suddenly inarticulate Sentinel. "Isn't that what all this squirming and twitching is about?" 

"No. The sounds next door woke me up." 

"Next door? Oh, you mean the next cabin? I don't hear a thing... yeah, big surprise. What are they doing, having a party?" 

"A party of two." He winced. "God, there goes the other one. Just my luck they're both screamers. At least they'll shut up now." 

"Uh, Jim... two women, multi-orgasmic capacity, no refractory period to speak of. I wouldn't count on it." 

Jim groaned as his ears were assaulted again. "Oh, hell, I think you're right." 

"Dial it down, love. It's OK." 

"I don't want to do that. The whole point of coming out here was to avoid having to do that. Revitalizing my senses, right?" 

" _Rest_ and revitalize. I don't want to take you back to Cascade a sleep-deprived zombie. There's only one thing to do." 

"What, sleep during the day? Can't do that, we need to see the Sheriff tomorrow, check -- whoa! Oh, God, do that again..." 

Blair's hands were doing beautifully obscene things under the covers, and his mouth was laying a hot, wet trail from the side of Jim's neck to his chest. "We can take naps (smack) tomorrow if it rains... (slurp) but right now... mmmm... right now you need to be distracted. If your senses are wide open, let them have something closer to home to focus on. Something (smack) to distract you... (slurp)... relax you." 

Jim found himself quickly rising to the occasion, as the sounds from the next cabin were drowned out by the moans and grunts coming out of his own mouth. Oh, yeah. Let the Guide guide. 

* * *

"Hey, guys, I was afraid you were going to miss breakfast too. Everything all right?" 

"Fine, Ted," Blair answered quickly. "Just didn't sleep as well as we expected to." 

"Not used to those jungle sounds," Jim added, intercepting a glare from his partner as they turned toward the dining room. 

"Behave yourself," Blair whispered. 

Most of the other people in the dining room were just finishing their meal, or lingering over coffee. The promised rain had begun before dawn, and no one seemed in any hurry to leave the Lodge and its comforts. Blair was happy to snag a table near the fireplace, and the ubiquitous Sue served them coffee as soon as they sat down. They were drooling over the menu, trying to make some hard choices, when a plump, matronly woman approached their table. 

"Annie Morris!" Blair jumped up to shake her hand, and Jim followed suit more sedately. "It's great to see you again. Have a seat. You remember Jim, don't you?" 

"The man who was so fond of my stuffed mushrooms? How could I forget?" 

Jim smiled. "If I'd known you were the cook, we would have been up here much sooner. You made the best stuffed mushrooms in Cascade." 

"Maybe I can manage to make some before you leave. We always have plenty of things that aren't on the menu, when I get inspired or find some particularly good ingredients." She turned to Blair. "I can even make you an algae shake if you want." 

"You're kidding! I was afraid I'd have to go without while we were on vacation. Jim absolutely refused to let me pack a blender. I can't believe there's much of a demand for those. I mean, a restaurant in a University district is one thing, but up here -- isn't health food against the law or something?" 

Annie chuckled. "Some of the macho mountain man types think so, but there are a lot of counterculture refugees up here too, and artists, and retired professors. Other than my dear husband, that is. Besides, Topher and Luis and Brooke like that sort of thing too." 

"We met Topher and Sue yesterday. Are the others staff here too?" Jim asked with deceptive casualness. 

"Yes. We've got quite an eclectic mix, and we're pretty informal. Everybody does whatever needs to be done." 

"Is it hard to attract enough staff to a place this remote? Where do you find your people?" Jim continued, ignoring the nudge of Blair's foot against his. 

"My husband has a tendency to take in strays," Annie said fondly. "People often come up here to escape something painful somewhere else, and Ted is really good at giving them a place to heal." 

"What do you mean?" Blair asked, intrigued. 

"Well, I won't name names. That's for them to share, not me. But we have someone who was a student of Ted's, started flunking out because -- as it turned out -- her boyfriend was abusing her. She dropped out of school and she came with us when we took the place over. A local boy who had gone away to college and a job in the city came back when the girl he was going to marry died. We've got a cancer survivor, and a woman whose husband and child were killed by a drunk driver. As well as the usual collection of people who are big-time nature lovers or just don't like 'civilization' all that much." 

"I can sympathize," Jim replied. "I'm not too thrilled with it myself sometimes." 

"With your job, I'm not surprised." Annie rose from her chair. "So, I'd better get moving and feed you breakfast. Blair, can I talk you into something besides an algae shake?" 

"How about those great whole grain apple pancakes of yours?" 

"Done. Jim?" 

"The spinach and sour cream omelet sounds great, with sausage." Another poke to his shin. "And whole grain toast," he added piously. 

Jim studiously avoided his partner's exasperated glare as his own eyes swept the room, observing the other guests. Two men and a woman in their forties were talking and gesticulating animatedly at a table, stepping on each other's sentences. They reminded him of Blair on a roll, and only a few seconds of listening to their conversation confirmed that they were indeed academics... botanists, apparently. Well, they had plenty of plant life to study around here. He was distracted again by a boot-clad foot. 

"Chief, if you're playing footsie, your technique needs work." 

"Very funny. Hysterical. May I remind you that we're supposed to be on vacation? Interrogations have no place on vacation. Nor does surveillance." 

"Hey, I was just being polite. Making conversation." 

"I hope Annie thinks so. And eavesdropping on your fellow diners' conversations is not generally considered all that polite in most circles." 

"Look, Chief, I'm not happy about that trap. A person who would do that is a potentially serious wacko. I'm trying to get an idea of just who we're sharing this place with. One of them could be responsible, or they could be potential victims." 

"OK, you've got a point. Just don't overdo it." Blair's gaze swept the room. "So who have we got?" 

"Bunch of scientist types at the next table... newlywed nature lovers over there in the corner... bet they won't mind staying in their room today." 

Blair grinned at his partner. "I know the feeling. What about that old woman sitting by herself?" 

Jim focused both hearing and sight in that direction as the woman signed her bill and chatted animatedly with Sue. "Artist of some kind... photographer, I think." 

Jim's surreptitious examination of his fellow guests was interrupted by the arrival of their food, which turned out to be every bit as good as anticipated. Conversation ceased except for culinary superlatives as both men gave the meal the concentration it deserved. They were at the stage of reminding each other that licking one's plate in public was simply Not Done, when Jim suddenly held up a hand for silence. Had he been a dog, his ears would have perked up and pointed toward the doorway. Blair twisted in his chair to look in the same direction. Two women were entering, just barely in time to get breakfast. They were so bundled up in rain gear, including hats, that their faces were obscured. Laughing and dripping on the carpet, they were apparently apologizing to Sue for their late arrival. 

Blair turned back to Jim, startled at the look of astonishment on his face. "What?" 

"I don't believe it. We haven't seen her for months in Cascade, and here we are practically in the wilderness..." 

The women were heading in their direction, weaving through the tables, talking animatedly with each other, opening their coats and pulling off their dripping hats. Jim half-rose from his seat. 

"Micki?" 

The women stopped dead, startled. The look of astonishment on Micki Kamerev's face was priceless. "Jim! And Blair... what a... what a nice surprise. I hope you are not here on a case?" 

"Surely this is much beyond the jurisdiction of the Cascade Police," the other woman commented. 

"Inspector Major Vaslova." Jim nodded at her. "You're a long way from Moscow." 

"My superiors were very impressed with my work on the Gordievsky case," she replied. "I have been sent back to your country many times since, but to my regret, I have not had the time to -- how do you say -- look you up." 

"I didn't realize you and Micki had become such friends. You didn't exactly start out that way." 

"Katrina was right," Micki added softly. "We both want the same thing. We have written and talked much to each other in the last three years. We have become very good friends." 

"So you're not on a case right now, Inspector?" 

"No, Detective Ellison, even those of us in the Moscow Metro Militia are allowed vacation once in a while. Micki is showing me something of your country." 

"Since we're all on vacation," Blair broke in, "could you two settle for 'Jim' and 'Katrina?' Otherwise conversation is going to take way too long. Looks like the rain's getting heavier. Are you two staying far from here?" 

"Oh we are staying at the Lodge," Micki said, "but not in the main buildings." 

"We like to be near the woods," Katrina added. "It reminds me of staying in a small _dacha_ in the forests of Russia." 

"Yes," Micki agreed. "We are in what you call a 'cabin.' Cabin eleven." 

* * *

"You shit!" Blair hissed as he and Jim left the dining room. "You knew all the time!" 

"Not right away," Jim demurred. "Not until I realized they smelled as much like each other as themselves." 

"Are you telling me you didn't recognize their voices last night?" 

"They weren't exactly having a conversation then, Sandburg. Do you think any of your former students would recognize their articulate lecturer from the noises you make when --" 

"All right, you've made your point. Boy, I didn't see this coming." 

"I figured that when you almost choked on your coffee. There's Ted, let's ask him about the Sheriff. I wanted to get on the road earlier than this... it's halfway to lunch time already." 

Ted Morris gave them a desultory wave. Most of his attention was on his phone conversation. He kept nodding but said little; obviously the other party was doing most of the talking. Extending his hearing -- unlike Blair, he still didn't trust their host completely -- Jim listened in. Ted's end was mostly monosyllables of agreement or commiseration; the other party spent a lot of time swearing and complaining. "Understaffed" and "underfunded" came up frequently. The tirade reminded Jim of Simon after one of his budget meetings. 

Clearly extricating himself with difficulty, Ted hung up and turned toward Jim and Blair. "That was the Sheriff. A lot of trees are coming down in this rain, and it's going to get worse. Seems like the jet stream has shifted north and we're going to get the brunt of the storm after all. He and his people are up to their ears, what with accidents and power outages and God knows what all. He says you're welcome to bring the trap in and make a statement, but it might be a while before anybody can do anything about it." 

"At least he knows about it now," Jim sighed. "I don't really hold out a lot of hope about fingerprints or any trace evidence, but I'll feel better when the thing's in official hands. Besides, maybe we can help out the Sheriff." 

"Hell of a way to spend your vacation," Ted remarked as he led them to a locked storage closet near the office. He retrieved the trap, now wrapped in kraft paper, and handed it to Jim. "Want some plastic to put over that? I don't know why you wouldn't let me wrap it in plastic in the first place." 

"Some kinds of plastic can react and contaminate evidence," Blair explained. 

Jim frowned. "It'll be all right to put a big plastic bag over it to take it out to the truck. It's raining more heavily now, and the wind's a lot stronger than when we came over here." 

The other men paused to listen. Even through the thick walls of the Lodge, the constant sound of wind could be heard, as it flung torrents of rain against the windows and whipped tree branches into constant collision. Blair seemed particularly morose. 

"You don't exactly look like a happy camper, Chief," Jim commented as they left Ted. He'd showed them a route to the parking lot used by the staff, one that saved them from trooping past the other guests with their odd-looking and bulky package. 

"Ted was right, this is a hell of a way to spend what's supposed to be your vacation. I agree we should help out the Sheriff under the circumstances, but it sucks that you can't catch a break and really relax. Wish I could've taken you to Maui. There are plenty of places to commune with nature on the eastern side. As long as we don't go in hurricane season..." 

"Sounds great. We should do it." 

"Jim, I can't afford to go to Maui. I can't even afford this, really. If Ted weren't giving us a good deal, and you weren't paying for most of it..." 

"Blair, we are not having this conversation again. _We_ can afford it. And it's not really a vacation, it's Sentinel maintenance. Too bad that isn't tax-deductible; it oughtta be. Now cut it out, and save your energy for getting to the truck without melting." 

"Who am I, the Wicked Witch of the West?" 

"More like a flying monkey." 

When they opened the door, the full force of the wind and rain hit them. It surprised even Jim, who'd been able to hear its ferocity from inside the Lodge. They sprinted for the truck, heads down against the rain. Blair jumped into the passenger side; Jim handed him the trap and sprinted for the opposite side. He was about to yank open the door that his partner had unlocked for him when belated realization hit him. He stopped, staring downward, then flung himself into the driver's seat, slammed the door, and began to swear fluently, utilizing the rich vocabulary with which years in the Army and police force had provided him. 

Blair stared at him, clearly startled at first, then looking impressed as Jim segued into words and phrases even the fascinated anthropologist hadn't heard before. Finally the former Captain Ellison ran out of invective and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. 

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Blair admitted, "what brought that on." 

"The damn tires are flat," Jim growled. "Every one of them." 

"What? You mean somebody let the air out?" 

Jim leaned back against the seat and rubbed a hand over his face. "I wish. They've been slashed. At least the left front is, I could see the cut. I presume it's the same with the other three." 

"Is it just us? Can you tell if any other cars were affected?" 

"Good question." Blair sat quietly as his Sentinel scanned the parking lot. It wasn't easy to focus, even for Jim. The heavy rain was blown around by the wind, now obscuring, now revealing the other vehicles, showing a constantly changing reflection of what light there was. "I can't see them all from here, but the ones around us look intact." 

"It sure looks like we were targeted because we're planning to go to the Sheriff. Maybe there's something on the trap after all. Maybe you should check it again." 

Jim shook his head. "I gave that thing a good once-over before we handed it to Ted. I'm sure I didn't miss anything that I possibly could have sensed." 

"You're not telling me this is a coincidence? Random vandalism that just happened to hit our truck?" 

"No, but it could well be meant as a warning. An attempt to keep us from getting involved, scare us off." 

"Don't know us very well, do they?" Blair gave a resigned sigh and reached over, attempting to smooth out the deep fissure that had grown between his partner's eyebrows. After a moment, Jim took the hand in his own, kissing the palm. 

"Sorry, babe." 

"For what? It's not your fault we landed in the middle of somebody else's problem again." 

"Yeah. Sure." Afraid he'd revealed too much, Jim gave the hand a final squeeze and released it reluctantly. "Come on, let's see if we can find some alternate transportation. Ted must have something we can borrow." 

Once more they braved the weather, getting thoroughly drenched before they made it back to the Lodge. They roamed the corridors as unobtrusively as two dripping men carrying a large plastic bag possibly could, looking for Ted. Unable to find him, they were forced into the public rooms, hoping to get to the lobby without attracting too much attention. Most people had gone to back to their rooms, or the TV lounge, or the library. The only other guests still at large managed to emerge from the dining room just as Jim and Blair passed by the door. 

"This is not a good day for the hiking, Jim." Katrina Vaslova's face was as impassive as ever, but the crinkling around her eyes betrayed her amusement. 

Micki, with her greater knowledge of the two men, didn't look amused at all. "Something is wrong." 

"Come on, Jim," Blair encouraged. "Katrina's a police officer too. We should let them know what's going on." 

After a long look at the Russian detective, Jim nodded. Stashing the package behind a large sofa in the lobby, Jim quickly and quietly related the events of the previoous day and that morning, including their talk with Ted Morris. 

"We borrowed a van for our trip," Katrina said. "Very sturdy." 

"With four-wheel drive?" 

The Russian woman nodded. "If no one has cut our tires, it would be very good to use in such weather. Also, I too am trained to help in emergency. Helping American Sheriff would be excellent for international relations. My superiors will continue to be happy." 

"OK," Jim agreed. "Sounds like a plan, if you're willing." He turned to Blair. "There's no need for you to come along, Chief. You're drenched, and you must be cold." 

"You could stay with Micki," Katrina agreed. "You have much to catch up to, I think." 

"Catch up _on_ ," Blair corrected automatically. "But I have no intention of sitting around by the fire while you two play cop all by yourselves. I've been wetter and colder than this before and will be again." He looked his Sentinel right in the eye. "You may need my help." 

"Mine too," added Micki. "We are partners, yes? Russian women are strong." 

Katrina pointed at Micki. "This Russian woman is very stubborn. All right, we waste time -- all of us will go." 

She led them to a tough but ancient van that looked like it could easily have taken on an expedition to Siberia. There was plenty of room for the four of them plus the trap, and no sign of vandalism on its well-cared-for exterior. Jim was clearly uncomfortable riding in the back seat, but Katrina pointed out they had promised the owner -- Katria Kamerev's new boyfriend -- that only she or Micki would drive it. Jim doubted he'd have won that particular argument in any case, since he was in the position of the beggar without choices. He tried not to squirm too much as they made their careful way down the rutted gravel road that led back to the highway. Katrina was a confident and competent driver, but she needed every bit of her skill to keep them out of trouble. The winds had to be close to gale force by now. Strong gusts slammed against the side of the big van at regular intervals, moving them sideways briefly until she wrestled with the steering wheel, getting them back on track. 

The cacophony of wind, rain, and flying debris was a continuous assault on Jim's hearing, almost as bad as a noisy day in Cascade. Sight didn't fare much better, with the ever-changing direction of the windswept rain alternately hiding and revealing the landscape in an unpredictable pattern. The inside of the van became concentrated fog of aftershave, perfume, wet clothes, wet humans, and wet plastic. A sharp metallic note cut through the softer scents. Part of it was the steel of the trap, still obvious to Jim despite its double wrapping. Another source was the gun that now felt like a boulder at his back. A similar odor wafted back from the front seats, and Jim concluded that Katrina was as reluctant as he to abandon her weapon, even on a presumed vacation. To distract himself from the almost uncontrollable urge to commit back seat driving, he concentrated on teasing out the similar but not quite identical scents of his own gun oil and whatever brand -- presumably a Russian one -- the Moscow Metro Militia used. 

If he hadn't been so focused on smell, he might not have noticed for some time that another scent was much stronger than it should be. It was part of the collection that Jim thought of as "car smell," such a familiar medley of scents that he usually paid it no more attention than the average non-Sentinel paid to the ubiquitous "elevator music" (which was unfortunately not confined to elevators). It took a few seconds for him to identify the exact substance, and when he did he must have given some sign of his fear, because he felt the touch of Blair's hand on his arm. 

Touching his partner's hand in reassurance, he spoke calmly, no sign of tension in his voice. "Katrina -- try putting on the brakes." 

Surprised, Katrina met his eyes in the rear-view mirror. Whatever she saw in them caused her do as he asked without question. Her own eyes widened in alarm. 

"They are not working." Everyone tensed as she kept her foot off the accelerator, slowing them down as much as possible without losing traction completely, preparing to downshift. It would have succeeded, given more time. Time ran out as they rounded the next curve, where a wall of green and brown blocked their path. 

" _Govno_!" Reflexively pumping non-existent brakes, Katrina swung the wheel, putting them into a skid. The rain had turned the road into a thick soup. Jim threw his arm across Blair as the van swung around, heading straight for the edge of the road and the ditch beyond. Katrina played the steering wheel like a virtuoso, and just before they reached the drop-off, the back of the vehicle came to a crashing halt against the fallen tree, stopping them dead, facing back they way they'd just come. 

The echoes of the crash still reverberated, and the sound of four hearts beating like a percussion ensemble on fast forward made Jim long to clap his hands over his ears. Those hands, however, were too busy reassuring him that his Guide was still in one piece. "Everyone OK in front?" 

Katrina and Micki were staring at each other, hands clasped, breathing hard. "OK." Katrina turned around to survey the crumpled rear end of the van, watching the rain pour in through gaps between the frame and the back door. "This will not be easy to explain to Pyotr and Katria." 

"That was great piece of driving, Katrina," Blair said when he got back enough breath to speak. 

" _Spaceba_. If you drive in Moscow in winter, you learn these things. Van is sturdy, but too old for airbags. Better its back end smashed than our fronts, _nyet_?" 

"Much better," Jim agreed fervently. "Is that a tarp in the back?" 

"Yes," Micki answered. "But what..." 

Unhooking his seat belt, Jim clambered into the rear, pulling at the tarp. "I want to look under the car. There was a strong smell of brake fluid; I think the lines were cut." Not looking at the two women, Jim pulled the door open, exiting as quickly as he could so the interior wouldn't get soaked. Before he could say "Sandburg, stay in the truck," Blair was behind him. They wedged branches under the wheels; then Jim spread the tarp on the muddy road and his head and shoulders disappeared under the van. It didn't take long to discover obvious evidence of tampering with the brake lines, and even less time to discover that the tarp wasn't helping much. Lying directly in the mud would have been worse, but not by much. 

Jim insisted that Blair get back into the van, while he removed the branches under the wheels and let the rain wash the mud off both him and the tarp. No reason to get this Pyotr guy any more pissed off than he was going to be already. Katria Kamerev was a good kid; he had no desire to screw up her love life a second time. 

When Jim got inside the vehicle, Katrina tried to start it. Her loud sigh of relief when the engine caught was almost funny. "If I drive back, even in first or second gear, it will be faster and drier than walking. We will not get there quickly, but at least we will be in one piece. We can all watch for any more problems." They crept back at no more than fifteen miles an hour, too concerned about being crushed by falling trees or getting stuck on the fast-deteriorating road to have much energy left over for talking. 

The Lodge was a welcome sight when they finally reached it. Katrina coasted into a parking space until she was stopped by the log barrier that separated it from the surrounding trees. A frazzled-looking Ted Morris came out onto the porch as they sprinted from the parking lot, although Jim and Blair were so wet already that moving fast hardly mattered. 

"God, what happened? I couldn't find you, and I saw Jim's truck out there with all its tires flat. Now this -- who ran into your van?" 

"Nothing. We ran into one of your natural wonders," Katrina answered. 

Jim brought Ted up-to-date on the latest attack. "This thing is escalating, Ted. If we'd been going faster, or Katrina hadn't been such a good driver, somebody could have been badly hurt, even killed. With that tree across the road, nobody's getting in or out of here for awhile, so we can forget about the Sheriff. How long will it take you to make a list of all your employees and guests, with names and addresses?" 

"What are you going to do with it? I'll do it, but I want to know." 

"I'm calling the Cascade PD, and asking them to start running checks. This isn't an isolated incident now, it's a pattern -- and I don't like the shape it's taking. Next time someone could die." 

"I'll have it for you within the hour. Look, I have some heavy-duty rain gear I can lend you. Why don't you go back to your cabins and get cleaned up, then come back here. You can make your phone call from the office." 

When they reached cabin eleven, Jim and Katrina went in first, guns drawn. They checked it for booby traps with the combined thoroughness of a Sentinel and an ex-KGB agent. Only when they were both sure it was safe did they let Micki enter. Jim did the same with cabin twelve, finding no danger there either. 

They took a quick shower, warming up a bit as well as washing off layers of mud. Despite great temptation, they limited themselves to some wet, soapy embraces and thorough kissing. Jim wanted desperately to stay, crawl between the flannel sheets, and drive the demons away by making love to his partner. That would warm him up even better, but he was afraid to delay setting the investigative wheels in motion. He had his suspicions about what was going on, and the fact that Blair and others had gotten dragged in ate at him. They made their way back to the Lodge, staying relatively dry this time thanks to Ted's slickers and rain hats. 

Micki and Katrina arrived before they'd finished divesting themselves of the heavy rain gear, and they all followed Ted into his office. Its owner stood morosely in a corner, leaning against the wall, as Jim dialed the Cascade PD. 

"Simon? Jim. I need a favor... OK, I *won't* tell you that we've stepped into it again. I don't know, this stuff just happens... so far, somewhere between malicious mischief and reckless endangerment, but it's getting worse. I need some names run for background checks. I know it's not Cascade's jurisdiction, but the local Sheriff is up to his ears in natural disasters and he can't... yeah, seems like we're right in the path of the storm, too. Yes, sir. Thanks, Simon." 

Jim turned to the others. "He went for it; he's switching me to -- hi, Megan." He began to recite the list of names, spelling out the more challenging ones. He'd made it through the staff and a few of the guests when that eloquent muscle in his cheek began twitching. "Megan? Megan?" He clicked the phone a few times, and checked the receiver jack. 

"Jim -- what's wrong?" 

He could feel Blair's eyes on him, hear the concern in his voice and the spike in his heart rate. "The line went dead." 

"What?" Ted launched himself from the wall, dejection turning into confusion. "That never happens. My grandad put our phone line underground, so it wouldn't come down in storms." 

Katrina looked at Jim, and their eyes locked in mutual understanding. "You think it was cut." 

"Cut?" Micki breathed nervously. "Are you sure?" 

Jim rose abruptly from his seat at the desk. "Not completely, but there's only one way to find out. Time to haul out that rain gear again." 

Ted joined Jim and Blair outside. The rain had let up a bit, although the wind was worsening by the minute. With Ted's guidance, it didn't take long to discover the break along the outside wall. The line had been cut in two places and a piece removed, making splicing it back together impossible. 

"We're screwed, aren't we?" Blair asked. 

"Pretty much," Ted groaned. "We've got a short-wave radio for real emergencies, not that anybody could get to us here with the road blocked. Let's hope we don't need any major help." 

Jim commandeered an unoccupied study while Ted went off to tell his wife the bad news and begin preparations for lunch. Blair lit the fire as soon as they entered the chilly room, then sat down with the other three. The comfortable, relaxing room was in stark contrast to the tense expressions on all their faces. For several minutes they all sat staring at the fire as the kindling, and then the larger logs, caught, casting a deceptively cheery glow on the two couples who clustered around it. 

Finally Katrina broke the oppressive silence. "I am not liking this. If road were clear, I would say leaving is best thing to do." 

"And abandon Ted?" Blair asked. "He might need us. It sure looks like somebody's out to get him again." 

"Maybe." Jim was sunk into a corner of the sofa, glaring at the floor. He could feel Blair's eyes boring into him. The tone of his voice must have revealed more than he intended. Damn. Keeping secrets from Blair hadn't been that easy before they became life partners; their ever-increasing intimacy was making it damn near impossible. He felt the touch of Blair's hand on his shoulder. 

"Spill it, Ellison." 

Jim sighed mightily, but began spilling. "It seems unlikely that someone would target Ted again after a gap of over three years. He found a pretty effective solution to the harassment by ensuring that nobody who might have been willing to use pressure tactics would ever get to buy his land. And that appears to be the only logical motivation, unless you know of a reason somebody might have it in for Ted personally." 

Blair shook his head. "Ted's one of the most easygoing guys I know. I never ran across anybody at Rainier who didn't like him, and getting that bunch to agree on anything is a major feat. I suppose he could have some deep dark secret in his past, but I doubt it. He just doesn't seem like the type." 

"If no one is trying to hurt Ted," Micki wondered, "then why are these things happening? They seem to be... what do you say, random?" 

Jim leaned forward, clasping his hands tightly between his knees. "They may not be as random as they looked like at first. That trap wasn't there for long before we went hiking. Slashing the tires on my truck was pretty focused. None of the vehicles around us was damaged." 

Blair leaned forward as well. "But we assumed that was because we were going to the Sheriff." 

"We didn't make our intentions common knowledge. We only told Ted." 

"But we didn't really try to hide it either. There were always other people around, we could have been overheard -- especially if the person behind this is on the staff, or even one of the guests. They'd be keeping an eye on us." 

"What about Pyotr's van?" Micki interjected. "That was not directed at you." 

"It could have been," Jim disagreed. "It doesn't take that long to cut a brake line. Anybody could have heard Katrina offer to drive us, and nipped out to the parking lot. Pretty much everybody around here carries a pocket knife. Or they could have nicked a knife from the kitchen." 

"You are sure there was enough time?" Katrina frowned. 

"They could have left as soon as we ran into you," Jim continued. "It was clear from our meeting in the dining room that we all knew each other. Our perp could have just assumed you'd offer to help, and tampered with your brakes just in case. That's what bothers me about this guy -- he doesn't seem to care who gets hurt." 

Katrina looked at Jim, nodding. "Collateral damage." 

Jim's reply was quiet, with an undertone of pain. "Yeah." 

Micki looked around at the others, all of whom seemed lost in thought. "What is this 'collateral damage?'" 

Blair lifted his head and looked at her. "It's a military term. It means damage incidental to your actual target. Unintended, but acceptable to the side doing the shooting, or the bombing, or whatever. Like in the Gulf War, when a lot of those so-called 'smart bombs' hit non-military targets." He turned toward Jim, looking closely at his shuttered face. "I get it now. You think somebody's after _you_." 

"Chief, the people who've told me over the years they were going to get me someday... some are dead, more are in the joint, but there's plenty left to do the job. I'm sorry you had to get caught in the crossfire." Jim looked around. "All of you." 

Katrina spoke from her place on the arm of Micki's chair. "It need not be you." She bowed her head. "When I was in KGB -- there are many who would like to see me dead, and I do not blame some of them. At the time, I thought I did what I must do, for my country. Now..." 

"Hush, _vozlyublennaya_." Micki laid a gentle hand on Katrina's knee. "That was long time ago, back in Russia. This is America." 

"Many Russians are in America, too. How many have lost someone they loved because of me? Russians have long memories." 

Jim shifted uncomfortably. "If it comes to that, there could be plenty of time bombs ticking away from my years in Covert Ops. Some of the things I -- well, never mind. The question is, what do we do now?" 

"What can we do?" Blair asked. "Even if one of us wanted to risk hiking out of here in this storm, what could we say? We don't have a suspect \-- or, more accurately, we have a lodge full." 

"What about a search?" Katrina suggested. "We could try to find out who has been outside. To look for the knife would be a waste of time. We have no crime lab to test for trace evidence." 

"Besides," Jim added quickly, "the perp could have just chucked whatever he used into the woods. That's what I'd do, if I knew I was trapped in this place with a couple of cops until that road gets cleared." 

"Finding out who's been outside wouldn't be that easy as far as the guests are concerned," Blair chimed in. "Anyone could have borrowed that extra rain gear Ted keeps around, and be back in their room by now, all dry and cozy. The staff seem to be in and out all the time, too." 

Micki broke the logjam of indecision by rising abruptly out of her chair and tugging Katrina's arm. "We cannot think what to do because our brains are hungry. We will go have lunch, and some good strong Russian tea. Then we can decide." 

No one had a better idea, and Blair began a lecture on the effect of diminished glucose uptake on brain activity, but clearly his heart wasn't in it. They moved to the dining room in a group and sat at a table away from the others. Partly from concern at being overheard, and partly from a lack of new ideas, they limited their conversation to the sort of topics that friends meeting on vacation might discuss. Blair shared anecdotes from his days as an undergraduate taking classes from Ted. Katrina and Micki talked about the earlier part of their trip, especially Katrina's reaction to the urban charms of Seattle and the sheer natural beauty of the Olympic National Forest. They finally began to relax a little, helped by cups of fragrant Russian tea and a thoroughly decadent chocolate torte. Jim was just insisting the dessert should be treated as a controlled substance, when the building shuddered under the onslaught of the strongest wind yet. The lights flickered, then went out. 

Jim scanned the room, while extending his hearing as well. The expressions of surprise and complaint from the other guests hardly needed a Sentinel to detect. He picked up expressions of dismay and a few swear words from the kitchen, then good-natured banter as the staff dug out candles and matches. Soon Topher and a younger, olive-skinned man -- presumably Luis \-- were lighting the candles on each table, protecting them against drafts with glass hurricane-style chimneys. Although it wasn't much past midday, the dark, clouded sky and the tall trees surrounding the Lodge made it seem more like night. Between the candles and the large fireplace, there was enough light to move around with reasonable safety, but the shadows were many and deep in the room's corners. 

Annie emerged from the kitchen. "Sorry, folks. Just enjoy the romantic lighting for a bit at no extra charge while my husband gets the generator going. All part of the excitement of country living." 

Her announcement was greeting with resigned laughter. Staff busily refilled coffee cups and offered after-dinner drinks on the house to soothe the customers. From the ensuing conversations, Jim gathered that this wasn't exactly an unprecedented event, or even an unexpected one on the part of some of the more frequent customers. It was just part of the package when you went off to stay in a rustic place in March, next door to someplace that wasn't called a _rain_ forest for nothing. The phone lines were underground, but Jim had noticed the power lines weren't, so this was probably due to the storm and not human mischief. He let himself relax a bit, dialing his sight down to normal so he could enjoy the sight of Blair's face by candlelight. God, the man was beautiful. If he wasn't careful, he'd zone out just on the way the flickering light painted those curls with moving light and shadow. 

"How far is this generator?" Katrina's sharp question dragged Jim's attention away from his partner. "How long should it take to start it?" 

Jim glanced at his watch, and was about to speak when he felt Blair grab his wrist and drag it closer to the candle. "Yeah, it's been almost ten minutes. Maybe I'm just getting paranoid here..." 

"But I've got a bad feeling," Jim finished. He was about to get up and investigate when Ted entered the dining room. He was outwardly calm, but his heart rate was elevated and Jim detected the chemical signatures of both fear and anger. 

"Sorry about this, but it seems our generator is having some problems. In technical terms, it's fried." Laughter greeted his words, but now it seemed more nervous than resigned. "Unfortunately, we're all stuck here until someone comes with chain saws in hand to unblock the road." 

Annie emerged from the kitchen once more to stand beside her husband, who slipped an arm around her shoulders. "The good news is, my wife can whip up a gourmet meal with nothing more than a Bic lighter." 

Annie snorted. "With a little help from a huge wood-burning stove that's been here since the Lodge was built. We've got plenty of firewood, and we'll put kerosene lamps in all the rooms. If any of you need a refresher course in wick trimming, talk to one of the staff. Think of it as *The 1900 House*, Washington style." 

Ted spoke up again. "Naturally, your bills will all be adjusted to make up the inconvenience of all this. Food and drink are on the house until this is fixed, but don't overdo it -- we don't want you stumbling around in the dark, drunk to the gills. Thanks for your patience, folks." 

More laughter and a spontaneous round of applause broke out. Jim watched and listened as Ted wove between the tables, chatting with the guests, reassuring them, answering questions. He saved their table for last, pulled up a chair, and sat down heavily. 

"All right," Blair said softly, "what's the real story? Is this another attack?" 

"Only if you believe in the Wrath of God," Ted replied. "The power line to the Lodge is intact. Some tree probably knocked it out somewhere down the line; it's not uncommon this time of year. But somehow I doubt it was God who put sugar in the gas and fucked up my generator. Sorry, ladies." 

"I have heard worse," Katrina assured him, "and in several languages." 

Jim frowned. "Our perp may not have caused this, but he may try to take advantage of it. Even with the fires and lamps, it's going to be dark in here and easier to lay traps. I know the four of us wanted isolated cabins, but I don't think that's a good idea right now -- makes us too vulnerable." 

Katrina nodded. "I agree. It will be easier to protect ourselves, and each other, inside the Lodge." She turned to Micki. "Is that all right, _dushchka_?" 

"Of course. And we can observe the others more easily as well." 

Ted stood up. "Good idea. I've got plenty of extra space at this time year. I'll put you near each other; I've got a nice suite of adjoining rooms. Let me get the fires going and make sure you've got what you need, including some high-powered flashlights. Go get your stuff and your new keys will be at the front desk when you get back." 

* * *

The "Gang of Four," as Micki dubbed them, went back to their cabins. With the same care as before, the two police officers examined each carefully and pronounced it secure. All them were used to traveling light when necessary, and it didn't take long to pack up their belongings and head back to the Lodge. As promised, Ted provided them with a suite of two large bedrooms with a sitting room in between. Jim hoped it would serve as a sound buffer if his two women friends assuaged their fear and nervousness the same way he planned to. If not -- well, let them get an earful for a change. 

They felt constant tension, waiting for the next attack, not knowing when or where it would strike or what form it would take. If not for that, it would have been an enjoyable afternoon and evening. The guests had obviously decided to treat the whole thing as an adventure, a lark. The Lodge staff skillfully encouraged that attitude, joking with the guests and dispensing both food and alcohol generously. They brought out board games and playing cards. The music room had a piano, and the staff unearthed other musical instruments, including some of their own. People re-acquainted themselves with pre-electronic forms of entertainment, clustering around the scattered sources of light and warmth. 

Dinner was an informal buffet, amazing in both quantity and variety. After handing them their new room keys, Ted had rushed off. He explained that all the staff would be "working their tails off" cooking the most perishable food, and packing the rest into insulated containers. If too much time passed before either power was restored or the generator fixed, food in the large commercial freezers would spoil. Between the refunds he insisted giving his guests, and potential losses to the restaurant part of the business, Ted stood to take a substantial financial hit from all this. Because of that, and because Ted's physical responses told Jim the innkeeper was as angry and scared by all this as the rest of them, residual suspicion of him was fading fast. 

Much as he wanted to disappear with Blair into their room and particularly into their bed, Jim knew this was too good a chance to pass up. Micki's charm had no small impact, but Blair was in his element in a situation like this. After dinner, he became the life of the party. Digging into his vast store of folk tales, playing the guitar, or singing rude drinking songs with the botanists, he seemed to be everywhere. Between his partner's infectious love of life and the cumulative effects of alcohol, people became ever more relaxed and unguarded. In the wake of their more outgoing partners, Jim and Katrina moved among the other guests more subtly, engaging people in quiet conversation -- and in Jim's case, listening in on the conversations around them. Finally, the excitement of the day, not to mention the food and drink, caught up with everyone. People drifted off to their rooms, happily talking about what fun they'd had. The Gang of Four was the last to leave. 

"So, did you learn anything significant?" Blair asked as they finally got into bed. 

It was a smaller bed than the one in the cabin, which Jim didn't mind that much since it encouraged, even required, close proximity. "Not so much in talking to people, except that everyone seemed to be what they said they were. Either they're telling the truth or..." 

"Or they're sufficiently psychopathic that they don't exhibit the normal physiological responses when they lie." 

"Yeah. Comforting thought. One thing's kind of interesting though... not what happened, but what didn't happen." 

Blair insinuated himself into the hollow of his partner's shoulder, as the larger man's arm reflexively gathered him close. "You going all Sherlock Holmes on me here? The 'curious incident of the dog in the nighttime?'" 

Jim smiled. "'But the dog did nothing in the nighttime.'" 

Blair knew his lines. "'That was the curious incident.' What didn't happen that you expected to happen?" 

"We found the trap yesterday afternoon. Then the tires were slashed, the brakes tampered with, and the phone line cut this morning -- all within a few hours." 

Blair lifted himself on one elbow so he could get a better view of Jim, but he'd put on his poker-face cop expression. "OK, the guests were more concentrated this afternoon, easier to keep an eye on... but they weren't all in one place all the time. They kept going out for drinks, or to the bathroom. Closely related phenomena, of course. It would have been harder to pull something, but not impossible. So then what..." 

Jim started to answer, but Blair stopped him with a raised hand. "No wait... of course! The staff! They were all busy all afternoon, and under the eyes of Ted or Annie the whole time. Hey that's great, that narrows things down, right?" 

"Maybe. Unfortunately, there's one other possibility." 

Blair stared, as if trying to tease the answer out of Jim's brain by telekinesis. Watching Blair's face was a joy any time, but watching the light of understanding dawn -- which it did often, and usually quickly \-- was almost as intense a pleasure as watching his face during sex, knowing that that look of erotic bliss was one he'd put there. 

"Got it! We could have a perp among the guests who's smart enough to hold off on purpose, knowing it would throw suspicion on the staff." 

"See, I told you you're a helluva cop, even without a badge." That earned him the kind of look from Blair that could turn big tough sworn officers to jelly. It also earned him a quick kiss. He would have preferred a longer one, but Blair's blood wasn't quite ready to leave his brain for points south. 

"So that pretty much leaves us where we were." 

"Pretty much. It's hard with so little physical evidence. Everybody around here smells like trees, flannel and wood smoke. A lot of these nature types don't wear perfume or aftershave, and besides, everything's been done outside. Any distinctive scents would dissipate fast, even without the rain to wash them away. It's cool enough outdoors that wearing gloves is common, which our perp probably did." 

"What about the brake fluid? Wouldn't that leave traces?" 

"Not necessarily, if you were careful. I went sniffing around earlier-literally \-- and I didn't detect the scent of brake fluid anywhere indoors. I hate to say it, but there's not much we can do but wait for something else to happen. Something inside, where we're more likely to catch the guy, or at least collect some decent evidence. Now can we stop being cop and consultant for awhile?" 

Blair apparently took the hint, because this kiss was a lot longer and deeper. In fact, it turned into a full-body kiss, a Sandburg specialty. Jim felt kissed not just on the lips, but all over, as Blair's body covered him. Blairskin slid sensuously over his, everywhere it touched; Blairhair of all lengths and textures set his nerves dancing almost from head to toe. Best of all, Blaircock was rubbing against his own in a tantalizing, not-quite-predictable pattern. He could feel the change in temperature as the blood filled it, the change in the texture of the skin as it stretched and hardened. His arms held his lover close to him, but it wasn't close enough. 

Blair's voice was soft in his ear, his breath a caress against his skin. "What do you want, love? What do you need?" 

Jim groaned, a shiver of pleasure moving down his body. He could easily come from the sound of that voice alone... "You. Inside me." 

Blair rose up above him, a creature of mysterious shadows, hair like a living thing in the ever-changing light of the fire. Its glow limned the movement of muscle under skin as this lascivious wood-elf reached for the drawer of the nightstand, finding what was needed. Jim let his senses drift again, letting them savor the gentle but knowing touch of fingers inside him, careful despite Jim's clear hunger for more. His sight seemed content to remain normal, enjoying the way Blair's hands emerged into light and fell back into shadow, preparing himself as if for some secret ritual, some working of magic. Not so far from the truth, after all. 

Blair tried to enter his partner slowly, gradually, but Jim would have none of it. He needed Blair enclosed, protected. Hips pushing up, arms and legs pulling down, he wanted to pull his lover inside himself, make of his own body a suit of armor, a fortress wall, a cave protecting a treasure-hoard. He was torn between that body's traitorous drive toward orgasm and an overwhelming desire to make this last, never let this man go... separate was not safe. It was no real contest, though. Blair's strokes were becoming faster and deeper, angling skillfully to give Jim one jolt of pleasure after another. As if that weren't enough, he felt Blair's hand, still slick with gel, wrap around his cock, pumping in time with each thrust. The end was inevitable, and Jim soon felt himself falling over the precipice that told him the point of no return had passed. He gave himself up to the waves of pleasure. After a few deep, hard thrusts his partner followed, giving Jim the added pleasure of watching his face as he came. 

* * *

Hours later, Jim woke, pulled out of a sound sleep by a sudden sense of danger. This time, he wasn't the only one. Blair stirred beside him, reaching out. Jim leaned close, whispering. "I heard a noise downstairs. I need to check it out." He slid out of bed, quickly pulling on sweats. 

Blair was close behind him. " _We_ need to check it out." 

"Look, babe, I don't want --" A soft knock on the door interrupted him. It wasn't the door to the hall, but the one to the sitting room that linked their room to Micki and Katrina's. Checking first for the now-familiar scent of the two Russians, he opened the door. 

They looked like they had dressed just as quickly. Micki wore a long, oversized T-shirt and tights, Katrina a sweater and knit pants. The sound of cloth against flesh told Jim their clothing, too, had been tossed quickly over naked skin. Although Micki politely averted her eyes, Katrina cast a cool glance over the tousled bed and the equally tousled men who had obviously just left it. Blair was still shirtless, although he quickly rectified the situation under that cool, appraising gaze. 

"You are hearing something downstairs as well? I am thinking no one should be walking around in middle of night, _nyet_? We should see what is there." 

"I agree." Jim turned to Blair. "I don't want anyone down there right now who doesn't have a weapon. Katrina can watch my back." 

Blair's look clearly said _not as well as I can_ , but he said nothing. 

"Blair," Katrina said, in a gentler tone than usual, "I would feel better if you and Micki were together. You watch her back, she watches yours, yes? _Pozhaluysta_?" 

"It's a good idea, Chief," Jim added. Somewhat to his surprise, Blair nodded. It was probably that last word of Katrina's that did it. One of the few Russian words Jim knew was the one for "please" and he doubted it was one that often crossed Inspector Major Vaslova's lips in any language. "You know the drill. Lock the door, and don't open it unless you're sure it's me or Katrina." 

"Yeah. Just try not to get thrown out of any windows this time, OK?" The look in his eyes belied the light tone, as did the quick, caressing touch on his arm. 

"Right. We'll be careful." He included Micki in his promise, even though her eyes were still fixed only on Katrina. 

Jim and Katrina slipped quickly into the corridor, shutting the door quietly and quickly behind them. Blair reluctantly put back the chain, then wedged a chair beneath the doorknob for good measure. Micki did the same with the outside door to her room, and the two settled in the sitting room, leaving the connecting doors open so they could hear any attempt to break into either room. Micki sat with her arms wrapped tightly around her; Blair paced as quietly as he could manage. Both were tense, listening for sounds from downstairs. The heard nothing now, but both Jim and Katrina were trained to move as soundlessly as was humanly possible. 

Micki finally flung herself out of her chair, uttering a harsh whisper. "This waiting, worrying -- I hate it!" 

Blair stopped his pacing and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Welcome to the wonderful world of loving a cop." 

At first Micki looked everywhere else but at Blair. Finally meeting his eyes, she gave a very Russian little shrug. "Katrina and I began writing to each other when she went back to Russia after the Gordievsky case. It is so easy now, with email. We would talk on the phone sometimes, she would visit. We became close over the years, closer than I would have dreamed. But this last... step... this is new." She gave Blair a wry little smile. "It was very big surprise." 

Blair smiled back. "I know the feeling." 

"When this is over, when we get back home, we must have long talk, yes?" 

"It's a deal." 

Silence settled again, like an oppressive fog. Just sitting around waiting was torture, but they were reluctant to say much, afraid they would miss something important. Just when Blair had concluded he'd go stark raving nuts if something didn't happen soon, there was a crash, and almost simultaneously, a sharp cry. 

"That is Katrina!" Before Blair realized what was happening, Micki was on her feet. She ran into the bedroom, pulled the chair from under the knob, and flung open the door. 

"Micki! Wait!" he hissed, making a grab for her but missing by inches. 

She flew down the corridor toward the stairs, Blair right behind her. As she reached the top step, Micki gave a little cry of alarm as her foot went out from under her. As she fell backward towards him, Blair grabbed her tightly and they both went down. They slid down the stairs together, each step sending shock waves up Blair's backbone as he did what he could to slow and control their fall. They hit the landing awkwardly. Micki was making small sounds of pain through gritted teeth but Blair just lay there on his back, unable to make a sound. 

Jim was there in a flash, kneeling beside his partner, touching gently, caressing. "Blair, are you all right? No, don't move your head." 

Blair reached out to grasp Jim's arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "S'OK," he forced out through cramping muscles. "Wind knocked out." 

Micki was sitting up now, held by Katrina. "I fell against Blair when my foot slipped. We slid down very hard, but I do not think either of us hit our heads." 

Jim didn't look convinced. In fact, he looked like a man whose worst nightmare was coming true. Blair forced himself to sit up, using his partner as a support. He wiggled his feet and hands. "See? Everything works." 

"I think Micki has sprained her ankle," Katrina said. "We should get her to bed." 

"What about..." Micki began. 

"Not now," Jim cautioned. "We're starting to cause a stir. Blair, can you make it on your own?" 

"Sure." Wincing a little, he stood up with the help of the wooden railing. His muscles were starting to loosen a bit, as his body recovered from the shock of impact. 

Jim picked up Micki and started up the stairs, looking over his shoulder to check on the progress of Blair and Katrina. He had almost reached the top when he stopped abruptly. Then he turned sideways, close to the wall. "Be careful. There's oil on the top step." 

Blair and Katrina didn't need any encouragement to be careful, as they copied Jim in keeping to the wall, stepping carefully over the spot. 

"It's all right, everyone," Jim assured the few sleepy heads that were emerging slowly from some of the doors. "Just a little spill. Please stay away from the stairs until we can get it cleaned up." 

Katrina moved into Jim and Blair's room first, drawing her gun as soon as she was out of sight of the other guests. She had managed to find an industrial strength flashlight downstairs, and took pains to make sure no one had entered the rooms while they'd been left unattended. Blair hung back, waiting to hear Katrina's "all clear," then shut and locked the door to the corridor. He hurried into the other bedroom, as Katrina pulled back the covers and Jim deposited Micki gently on the bed. Blair added wood to the fire, warming up the room. 

"You need some ice for that," Jim said, "and you could use some too, Katrina." 

" _Vozlyublennaya_ \-- you are hurt!' Micki cried. 

"It is nothing," the other woman reassured her. "Just my shoulder a little." 

"For now, keep quiet and keep this foot elevated." He handed Katrina the extra pillows from the closet and Katrina slid them carefully under her friend's ankle. "Blair and I will see if we can find some ice and get that oil off the stairs. Katrina, I've got an Ace bandage in my bag. That should help." 

"You bring such a thing on vacation? You are always prepared, like Boy Scout." 

"I don't think the Boy Scouts would thank you for that comparison," Jim answered. "I took a bullet just below the knee last year. It was just a graze, but the knee bothers me sometimes if I do a lot of walking." 

"Which we were planning to do," Blair grumbled. "Long quiet walks in the woods. Best laid plans gang aft agley." At the Russian women's blank looks he translated. "Scottish dialect for 'get knocked into the toilet.'" 

* * *

Blair was surprised when Jim took his hand as they made their way gingerly down the stairs and toward the kitchens. He could hear, rather than see, the other man's smile as he explained. "Just for safety, Chief. Don't want you tripping over something in the dark." 

"Right. Is that what happened to Katrina?" 

"Not exactly." Jim slowed down, searching the floor. He bent down and picked up something. When he straightened up, he placed a hard object in Blair's free hand. 

"Wow, this sucker is heavy," Blair exclaimed. "What is it?" 

"It's a bookend, one of those heavy stone ones. Somebody threw it at us." 

Blair dropped the object onto a nearby chair like a hot potato, then threw his arms around his partner. "If that had hit your head, it could have killed you." 

Jim's arms went around him, holding him close, whispering reassurances in his ear. "I don't think anyone meant to kill us, at least not that time. It was another crime of opportunity. It was Katrina's _shoulder_ that got hit, remember, and I'm taller than she is. Either our perp's got lousy aim, or he had no intention of doing us permanent damage." 

Blair released Jim, wishing he could see his face better. "So what's going on? Clearly, there was somebody down here. And how did he booby-trap the stairs? They were all right when you and Katrina went down, obviously \-- or one of you would have gone ass-over-Adidas if you hadn't smelled it." 

Jim took his hand again, talking quietly as they walked toward the kitchen. "There's a small plastic bag with a hole in it in the corner of the top stair. Our perp's an ingenious little shit, I'll give him that. I noticed those stairs aren't quite level, and anybody familiar with the building probably knows it too. All he had to do was drop the bag and let gravity do his work for him. He'd be far away when the damage got done." 

"That's probably what woke you, having somebody moving around that close to our room." 

"He must have miscalculated how long the oil would take to spread, or Katrina and I got after him faster than he expected." 

"There you go again, assuming you're the target. Has anybody ever told you that you have a guilt complex? Maybe he hit Katrina on purpose, hoping that would draw Micki out -- which is exactly what happened. With her political activity, Micki's made plenty of enemies." 

"I'm sure that's what Katrina thinks. Except she's convinced anyone attacking Micki is ultimately after herself." 

"Are you sure the two of you weren't separated at birth? I guess the military/cop thing transcends cultural differences. You're worried about the same thing, I can tell." 

They were at the door of the kitchen. Jim stopped, took a deep breath. "Chief, when I think of all you've been through because of me, all the times you were hurt, or almost killed -- hell, you _were_ killed! It terrifies me that one of those people who have it in for me might decide the best way to make me suffer is to go after you. If you'd never met me, you'd have a lot safer life." 

Blair reached out a hand, trailing his fingers along the planes of his partner's face, now rigid with control. "But I wouldn't have you to love." 

Jim closed his eyes tightly. "Is loving me worth your life?" 

"Yes." Their hands still clasped, Blair pulled Jim's head down, coaxing the taller man's tightly compressed lips to relax, then open. With a groan, Jim pulled to him in a crushing embrace. After a moment, Blair pulled away. "Come on, we're on a mission of mercy here. Poor Micki's up there hurting." 

* * *

Jim winced as he opened his eyes the next morning. What the hell? He slid out of bed and went to the window, pulling open the drapes just a little. If anyone happened to be looking into their window they'd get an eyeful, but too bad. 

"Jim?" came a sleepy voice from the bed. "Whassamatter?" 

"Storm's over. There's actually sun out there. Remember sun?" 

Blair burrowed under the covers, muffling his voice. "Think I read about it in a book once." 

Jim leaned over, pulled down the covers, and gave his beloved a noisy, slurpy kiss on the shoulder, since his face was buried in the pillow. "I'll shower first, let you sleep a little more." 

"Why are you so damn cheerful all of a sudden?" Blair yanked the covers back over his head. 

"With the storm over, somebody's sure to come soon and get that tree out of the road. We can get out of here, contact Simon and the Sheriff, either get some closure on this fucking case or dump it in someone else's lap. Then maybe we can get back to vacating." 

When Jim was through, Blair stumbled sleepily out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Jim finished dressing, then listened for signs of activity next door. Katrina and Micki seemed to be waking up and preparing for the day as well. When everyone one was ready at last, they commandeered the small staff elevator. Micki's ankle, though much improved, wasn't ready to tackle stairs. They met Ted as they emerged, and Jim took him aside to relate the events of the night, while the others moved on to the dining room. Ted was chagrined that he, and apparently the rest of the staff -- with the possible exception of the perpetrator -- had slept right through it. Jim pointed out that the events of the night, while certainly intense for the participants, hadn't actually created that much noise. Given the amount of alcohol his fellow guests had consumed, he was surprised any of them had been alert enough to even poke their heads out last night -- and they were near the action. The staff slept in a different wing, and were tired out from their unusually busy day, so it wasn't surprising they'd missed it. 

When Jim found the others in the dining room, Sue was putting an algae shake in front of Blair and asking the others for their orders. "All right, Chief... I know Annie's a wizard in the kitchen, but how can she make one of those things without an electric blender?" 

Blair directed a smug little grin toward his partner. "She had some left over from yesterday, and when the lights went out she made sure it got saved in a cooler for me. See what charm can do for you, Jim? You should try it." 

"Oh, very funny. Like I'd want to charm anybody into giving me something that smelled like that. Besides, I have plenty of charm. It's just more... _subtle_ than yours." 

"Yeah, so subtle most people miss it." He raised the glass. "Here's to the Ellison charm." 

Blair had just raised the glass to his lips when realization hit Jim like a blow. With a shout of "No!" his hand shot out, knocking the glass away. Everyone jumped up as the contents splattered over the table, the floor, and an astonished Sue. The other diners stared. Jim grabbed one of the cloth napkins and used it to pick up the glass from where it had fallen, some of the thick green stuff still clinging to it. When he stood up, the hand that held the glass was visibly shaking, and his face was a mask of cold fury. There were rebels and terrorists who'd seen that face, but it had been the last thing they'd ever seen. 

Sue quailed visibly when it was directed toward her. "Into the kitchen. I want to see everyone on the staff. Now." He turned back to the table. "Blair, Katrina, with me. Micki -- don't touch that stuff, and make sure no one else does either." No one challenged or even questioned them as they marched through the dining room. If any thought of it, one look at Jim would have quickly changed their minds. 

He shoved open the swinging door with a crash that brought a little scream from the already-traumatized Sue and a glare from the usually placid Annie. "What is going --" 

"Attempted murder." Jim set the napkin-wrapped glass on the counter. All eyes in the kitchen were drawn to it despite themselves, like some scene of carnage at the side of the road. 

"My God," Annie whispered. "Ted's gone to get the rest of the staff. I had no idea..." She lapsed into silence. 

Jim listened to the booming of pounding hearts around him. They were all afraid, guilty or not, but he didn't care. All he could think about was the one heartbeat he knew as well as own, and how close it had just come to being stopped forever. He stared at the confused group of people huddled in the kitchen. He could feel the touch of Blair's hand on his back. It was the only thing keeping him from exploding. Katrina stood beside him, her own cold stare disturbingly similar to his. 

It seemed like an eternity, but it was only a minute or two before Ted came in with the few additional members of the staff who'd expected the luxury of sleeping in. His gait was dejected; his face sad but resigned. "This is everybody." 

Jim was silent another long, excruciating minute, looking hard at each face in turn. "One of you already knows this, but for the rest of you... I'm a detective with the Cascade Police." He held up his shield. "I know this isn't my jurisdiction, but since the Sheriff can't get through, I'm the closest thing to the law you've got right now -- and I refuse to risk letting anyone else get hurt. We can't afford to wait." 

Ted looked at the motley group gathered in the kitchen. "I'm asking you to cooperate with Detective Ellison as a favor to me. You could all be in danger, as well as the future of the business." 

"In the past forty-eight hours," Jim continued, "there has been a series of incidents designed to hurt, or at least frighten. A steel trap left, concealed, in the middle of a trail. Tires slashed. Brake and phone lines cut." He began walking closer to the line of people spread along the wall of the kitchen. "Last night, the stairs were rigged so that someone coming down them was sure to fall. Whoever is behind these incidents didn't seem to care who got hurt, or how badly. This made it difficult to determine whether this violence was random, or directed toward someone in particular." 

Jim walked back to the counter, staring at the glass. "Somebody has just upped the ante. This drink was being saved for a particular person. It was poisoned -- it's full of a mixture of poisonous plants and mushrooms." He felt Blair's hand go still at his back, felt his strong fingers dig in as they gripped his sweater. "Up until now, this person has been impossible to identify, because there was no physical evidence tying him -- or her \-- to the incidents, and the traps could have been set by almost anyone. But now..." Jim raised his head again. "This poison cocktail was freshly prepared. Like many of the other incidents, this was a crime of opportunity, taking advantage of the fact that this drink was sitting in the cooler, waiting for my partner to drink it. So our perpetrator has made two major mistakes at last. He's done something that had to leave physical evidence. Without a working blender, the stuff had to be reduced to a paste by hand. There's no way someone could have removed all the organic residue from an operation like this, even if he wore gloves. It'll still be obvious to someone trained to detect it." He turned slightly, touching Blair on the shoulder. "Biggest mistake of all -- this person tried to hurt someone who's very important to me." 

Jim walked up to Sue, nostrils twitching. He stood close to her as she stood wide-eyed, still as a statue. "Give me your hands, please." She raised her hands as if hypnotized, and he held them to his nose. "Good thing for you I'm not the Sheriff, or I'd run you in for smoking that stuff." Sue snatched her hand away, going red as a boiled lobster. 

"Nothing else, though. Go ahead, you can leave if you want to." The young woman fled like a rabbit, no doubt to get rid of her stash as soon as possible. 

Looks of amazement and nervousness were exchanged. Clearly they were aware of Sue's habit, and that little demonstration was a revelation to any who might have thought this big-city detective was just bluffing. Ted and Annie insisted on being next, and Jim complied. He didn't seriously suspect them any more, but he wasn't going to leave anybody out. Next to be cleared was Brooke, whom Jim hadn't even met yet, and Luis. As he stepped in front another staff member he didn't know, the same scent he had encountered in the dining room was suddenly _there_. He swiveled his head to the left, meeting eyes so filled with rage and pain he couldn't imagine how such feelings had been hidden until now. 

With an animal cry, Topher broke from the line and lunged for Blair, hands stretched before him to grab his victim's throat. Too surprised to dodge at first, Blair threw up his hands in front of his neck as Katrina slammed into Topher, knocking him to the floor. Jim was right behind her, wrestling with the frustrated attacker. Everyone in the kitchen stared as their friend and easygoing fellow worker turned into a deranged monster before their eyes, screaming obscenities, trying to get to Blair despite the two police officers who had him pinned. 

"Motherfucking bastard! Damn right I tried to kill you! You deserve to die for what you did to me!" 

Blair stared down at Topher, dumbfounded. "Did to you? I don't even _know_ you, man!" 

"You took her from me. She was everything to me, and you took her away. It's your fault my Janet's dead!" The fight seemed to go out of the young man all at once, and he lay sobbing on the kitchen floor. "Damn you, Sandburg... damn you to hell..." 

"Janet? Your fiancee died... Janet Myers? Oh my God..." 

Jim looked up to see Blair staring down. He looked like a man who'd been gut-shot. Worse... shooting him might have been kinder. Jim suddenly remembered who Janet Myers was. He remembered how his partner had reacted when they'd found the young woman, Blair's friend, lying in the Cyclops garage with an arrow in her back. The sharp realization of how his lover must be hurting brought an ache to his own heart, sharp as any arrow. "Blair..." 

"Jesus! Looks like I arrived not a moment too soon." A muscular man in a Sheriff's uniform stood in the doorway, Micki behind him. He looked down at the tangle on the floor. "You Ellison?" 

Jim reluctantly looked away from Blair and nodded. "Yeah... and this man just confessed to attempted murder." 

"I heard him. So did everybody in the dining room, and probably the next county." He pulled handcuffs off his belt and knelt down, cuffing the now unresisting Topher and hauling him to his feet. "If I hadn't, I wouldn't have believed it. He grew up around here; I've known him since he was a baby." Shaking his head, he turned to Ted. "Have you got someplace secure we can put him until we can get a cruiser through? Something sturdy we can cuff him to?" 

"Yes," Ted replied sadly. "But if the road's still blocked, how did you get here, and why? You didn't know about anything besides the trap." 

"Got a phone call from some Cascade cop called Simon Banks." He turned to Jim, who was now off in a corner in the kitchen, talking quietly to Blair. "He's a persuasive sumbitch when he's riled, ain't he? Says they found a connection between Topher here and some old case of yours, had him worried. Hard to make out the details, there was some woman with a funny accent yelling in the background. So Fred and me hauled our asses over here in the cruiser, far as we could. Then we climbed over the damn tree and hiked in." 

He turned to Katrina. "Ma'am, you don't look like a cop but you sure act like one, so I'm assuming you got yourself a permit for that artillery I saw." 

Katrina nodded. "I am Russian police officer." 

"Turned out to be a real busman's holiday for you, didn't it?" At Katrina's blank look, he continued. "Never mind. Could you please step into the lobby and ask my deputy to come back here?" 

"Of course." Katrina left, taking a limping Micki with her. 

"I'll need statements from the lot of you, but that shouldn't take too long. Looks open-and-shut now." 

Jim lifted his head from where it was bowed next to Blair's ear. "Is that a chainsaw?" 

The Sheriff looked impressed. "You have damn good ears for a city guy. Yeah, after my little chat with Captain Banks I put you guys at the top of the queue, just in case. We have a lot of fallen trees, so they're just cutting enough today for a single vehicle to get through. They'll be back later to finish the job." 

The Deputy arrived and removed Topher, who seemed barely aware of his surroundings. "Annie, I'll save you and your wait staff for last, so you get on with feeding the folks out there. Mr. Sandburg, I'll start with you. Sounds like you'll have the most to tell me." 

* * *

The sun reached the soft forest floor in countless narrow lances of light. The wind barely moved the faraway tops of the trees. The only sounds to be heard were the cries of birds, the rushing of rain-swollen streams, and the occasional skitter of a foraging squirrel. The carpet of needles and wet leaves was so thick that any animals traveling through it did so soundlessly to normal ears. Had the sound of their passage been louder, the two men walking side by side still wouldn't have noticed. They reached a spot where the trees grew less thickly. The sunlight spread in a ragged circle to warm a flat boulder that lay at the side of the trail. The taller of the two veered over to sit down on the rock, patting the space next to him with one hand. 

"Come on, Chief. My knee needs a rest, and we could both use a water break." 

Blair sat down and pulled out his water bottle, drinking it down like it brought him no more pleasure than some familiar and necessary medicine. They sat for a long time in silence, Blair staring with no apparent reaction to the natural beauty that surrounded them; Jim with eyes only for Blair. Finally the younger man spoke. 

"It's ironic, you know. You and Katrina were so sure it was one of you, what with your deep dark pasts -- and it turned out I was the one who fired the missile that took out the orphanage. I still feel kinda guilty about what happened to Maya, and here comes something else from my checkered past to bite me on the ass." 

"Chief, you're not responsible for what happened to Maya. Yeah, you weren't honest with her, but finding out the ugly truth about her father was a lot bigger blow, and that would have happened eventually. You can't blame yourself for the unforeseen consequences of every action you take. If you do that, you'll go catatonic -- afraid to take any action at all." 

"I never should have asked Janet to help us. I knew it could be dangerous." 

"I was there, you know. I've thought about it a lot since yesterday. As I recall, all you asked her to do was 'pay a little attention' to what Cyclops was doing in Peru. Going after those documents, downloading files, making copies -- that was all her own idea." 

"But she never would have started it if I hadn't asked her what I did. She did it because she was my friend." 

"No she did it because she cared about something, something more important than herself." Jim slipped an arm around his partner and pulled him close. "How do you think I felt when you went off with Alex?" 

Blair turned to stare at Jim. "What? What does that...?" 

"Come on, how do you think I felt?" 

"Like hell, I guess. Scared, worried... I'm sorry I put you through that, but it was just..." 

"Something you had to do? Something more important than your own safety?" 

Blair relaxed slightly, leaning against his partner's side. "Point taken." 

"Thank God. I was trying to tell you that yesterday, but you just weren't in a mood to hear it. You scare the hell out me when you go off and do something dangerous, but when you're quiet--then I'm really terrified." 

"Fear-based responses. Told you." 

"Yeah, especially around you. My life would be a lot simpler if I could just lock you in the loft and make a househusband of you, but I don't think you'd like that much." 

"Neither would you, when I kicked you in the balls and grabbed the key." 

Jim squirmed. "Ouch. But that's what Topher was doing to Janet, in his head at least. Taking away her right to make her own choices, take her own risks. Make her own decisions on what was worth dying for." 

Blair made patterns in the pine needles with the toe of his boot. "Maybe. Still, it's kinda hard for me to blame the guy for what he did. If anybody had done something that ultimately caused your death, no matter how fucking noble the cause..." 

"You wouldn't have tried to kill them, with reckless disregard for the safety of others." 

"I'm not so sure. And I'm not sure Topher was trying to kill me, either. It won't be easy to prosecute. Except for death-cap mushrooms, which don't fruit in the spring, I don't know of anything that grows around here that you could reasonably count on being fatal." 

"Yeah, maybe it would have just destroyed your liver and we'd be waiting for a transplant. Or messed up your brain, or --" 

"OK, OK. I'm not saying the guy is a saint. But it's almost like the medieval Trial by Ordeal... maybe he was leaving it up to God to decide if I was guilty or not." 

"Well, you're here and Topher's in the slammer, so I guess that answers the question." 

"Yeah, I guess. Of course, he didn't know I have a live-in Guardian Angel. Topher -- I still can't believe "Topher" is the same as the "Chris" everybody kept talking about at Janet's funeral." 

"Yeah. Just our luck he was out of the country and couldn't be reached in time. Missing her funeral that way probably made him even angrier. Where was he anyway? I wasn't paying that much attention at the time." 

"You, Cop of the Year, not paying attention?" 

Jim pulled his partner tighter against his side. "Not long before, a certain anthropologist-in-training had just dropped a bombshell on me. Something about already having enough material for ten dissertations. Making me wonder what was the real reason he stuck around." 

"The excitement of police work versus academia, remember?" 

"Oh, I remember all right. If I'd had the guts then to recognize that as grade A bullshit, we could have saved ourselves a lot of time and heartache." 

"Maybe. Maybe not. Things happen in their own time, if they're really meant to be. I couldn't admit it to myself it was bullshit, and I was the one shoveling it out." 

"And maybe what happened to Janet was meant to be; maybe that was her purpose in life. What if she'd found out on her own later, without us being involved? She'd still be dead, and Cyclops might have gotten away with everything. The way it turned out, her death -- and Incacha's, for that matter -- accomplished something." 

"I guess you're right. It's just so hard, you know?" 

"Yeah, I know. What's that saying... 'Life is hard, and then you die.' Just give me at least fifty years with you first." Jim kissed the top of Blair's head. "How about leaving here a little early, like tomorrow morning -- now that the road's cleared and we've got four nice new tires. Maybe we could go a little farther north and try some fishing, or go find a bed and breakfast, accent on the bed." 

"I hate to run out on Ted, but getting away from here sounds great. Too many bad memories right now, a little too fresh." 

"I don't think Ted would mind, considering. Besides, Katrina and Micki are staying longer than they'd planned, while Micki's ankle heals. Ready to head back?" 

"Yeah. If we're going to leave tomorrow, we need to get our money's worth out of that room." 

"Uh-huh. Especially that bed." 

"Now that sounds like a great plan. Maybe on the way back you can tell me all about the special training you've had in detection of organic poisons. You should tell Joel, he'll want to take the course." 

"Very funny, Darwin. You jealous because I've been taking obfuscation lessons?" 

"Hardly. It was pretty lame, actually. If Ted hadn't been there to ask them nicely, some of the staff would have probably told you to buzz off, no matter how scary you looked. You were hoping to bluff a confession out of somebody." 

"It worked, didn't it? I'd pretty much run out of options, and you were in danger. End of story." 

Rising from their rocky seat, they turned back they way they had come. As if of their own volition, their hands met and twined together. As they walked slowly back, Jim felt hopeful as his partner seemed to at least notice the beauty around him for the first time that day. Much as he might wish it otherwise now, life for Sentinel and Guide seemed to be one long war against an enemy whose face kept changing, but whose motivation was the same deep down -- threaten the peace and safety of the tribe. No war could be fought without collateral damage, but he hated the times it touched the man walking beside him. Both he and Blair had chosen freely to fight that battle, and difficult as it was, he had to honor his Guide's choice as well as his own. At least -- thank whatever power brought Sentinel and Guide together -- he'd never have to fight alone again. 


End file.
